


Screaming Colours

by kathrynjt



Category: Captain America, MCU, Marvel
Genre: AU, M/M, Pre-CATFA, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Soulmates, soulmate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7565089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathrynjt/pseuds/kathrynjt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title stolen from a Taylor Swift song because I'm a lazy bastard. Also, I spell grey with an E rather than an A, sorry if that bothers you.</p><p>Follow me on tumblr, if you want; buckinator3000.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	Screaming Colours

Wall. Black.  
Sketchbook. Grey.  
Flower. White.  
Pavement. Grey.  
Shoes. Black.  
Hedge. Grey.  
Wall. Black.  
Hedge... Not grey.  
Not grey?  
Then what is it?  
Not black, not white, not grey; something else.  
A stripe of colour, about the width of a hand, looked as if it had been wiped across the hedge.

Steve turned around, trying to find anybody else who might be seeing this. Nobody. He took note of where he was, scribbling down the name of the closest street sign he could find. He kept walking.

Pavement. Grey.  
Wall. Black.  
Hedge. Grey.  
Wall. Black.  
Pavement. Grey.  
Hands. White.  
Shoes. Black.  
Wall... Not Black.  
Not black, nor white, nor grey, but not the same colour as the hedge, either. Darker than the hedge, but not as black is darker than white, more like how dark grey is darker than light grey.

Steve stood back. There was more not-black-but-not-white-or-grey-either here than on the hedge. There was a stripe, much like on the hedge, but there was... a point on the end of it. Steve thought that, perhaps it was a crude attempt at an arrow. He followed it with his eyes.  
Grey.  
Black.  
Grey.  
Grey.  
Grey.  
Not grey.  
Darker than the not-grey, lighter than the not-black. A sort of in-between colour laying on a wooden bench. The second not-grey (or not-grey-two, as Steve would come to know it) seemed to spell something out. Again, very crude, but Steve managed to decipher it.

'Follow me.'

A long stripe of not-grey danced across the entire length of a tall hedge.

By now, Steve had figured out what was happening. His soulmate was leaving him a trail. A grin crept onto Steve's pale face (or, Steve assumed it was pale, at least) as he began bounding down the street, sketchbook and pencils tucked safely away in his satchel.

The whole world, completely black and white like a television set; except for the parts your soulmate touched. Steve never thought he would find his, especially not while taking an evening stroll.

Steve's lungs started protesting after about thirty seconds of running, but Steve didn't care; his hand was following the trail of not grey, his gangly legs carrying him as fast as they could go. He had waited sixteen years for this moment, and he wasn't about to give it up for anything.

Steve was just about ready to collapse when he saw it. A small house, two storeys, but narrow and seemingly falling to bits. The grass outside it was beautiful. It was the same not-grey as the hedge, and the flowers that dotted the edges of the garden were all sorts of not-greys and not-blacks-or-whites-either. And the door. Good lord, the door.  
It was a dark grey, mostly, but the handle was a shiny not-quite-black-yet-not-quite-grey and the wooden frame around it had stripes and marks of the same not-grey-two as the bench. The door itself had a lighter not-grey-two all around the keyhole, presumably there from when his soulmate stumbled with their key. There was a round spot the same colour around where Steve's hand came in contact with the door when he knocked.

The adrenalin was starting to seep back out of Steve's body; he was really regretting not listening to his lungs.

A woman around the age of thirty answered the door.

Steve was gasping for breath at this point. He felt lightheaded; the whole world growing blurry around him. "I'm... I'm Steve, can I come... in?"

The woman caught him just as he collapsed.

He woke up only a few seconds later, on the woman's couch. His eyes adjusted and all he could see was colour. It was as if his vision had been flipped and he could see spots of not-colours instead of spots of not-greys.

He heard the sound of footsteps coming from the stairs behind him. He sat up and turned around, facing the cause of the sound. It was a boy around his age, a boy who was now staring at Steve and had stopped in his tracks. A boy who wore tattered clothes and a smile. A boy whose hair was tousled and messy, and not in a way that seemed intentional. A boy whose name was "James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky, if you want."

"Nice to meet you, Bucky. I'm Steve. Are you seeing this, too?"

"I sure am; nice to meet you, soulmate," said the boy whose entire body radiated not-greys and not-blacks and not-whites.

**Author's Note:**

> That was my first stucky fic!!! Hope you enjoyed it!!


End file.
